Words Unspoken
by CuteCat213
Summary: Shark's never been good with words, but that's fine: Yuma's always been able to understand all the things he doesn't say. Sharkbaitshipping.


From the very first, Shark was never good with words. Never needed to be. He had power and followers and a winning streak a mile wide and _what else was there?_ Snarks and insults were an entire language to him, his deck all he needed. No friends -peons maybe; followers- nothing holding him back. He needed no one. Which was convenient, since no one could much stand to be around him anyway- whatever, who needed them? _Not Shark_.

Until _him_. Yuma-surname-Tsukumo whom you had to talk to at least twice with different company each time to figure out which was his given name and which his surname because he swapped the order every introduction. Who was proud -for _what_?- and whose simple name was basically impossible to screw up anyway. Yuma, who didn't get so disgusted with people mangling his name that he had two of them depending on which part of the multi-racial student population he spoke to- who gave it up entirely and chose to ignore _both_ his names for a moniker so simple it would take a complete moron to mess it up. Yuma, pathetically up-cast social _outcast_, clutz of the school who couldn't go a week without tripping down a flight of stairs and whose win-count for all his duels was practically non-existent. Yuma who _never shut up_.

Yuma, who _beat Shark._ Who dared try to _befriend_ Shark, who didn't need anyone. And Shark showed just what he thought of the gall, showed _why_ he spoke so little, because everything from his mouth was venom and vitriol.

Shark, who turns his back on Yuma and walks away.

And Yuma, stupidly optimistic as ever, tries just as hard the next time they meet. And that time, it's just a little harder for Shark to keep himself back, and somehow he also finds himself unable to call Yuma the hopeful moron he thinks in his mind. His words are sharp and cutting anyway. He's never been any good with them.

All of which seems to go _way_ over Yuma's head because _Hey, Shark, wanna go to the arcade? _and _I heard they just got in a new shipment of cards! You're coming with me to look, right?_

And Shark's still not good with words but really _Yeah, sure, why not?_ and _Like anyone else can tolerate being around you for extended periods of time._

And he's not quite sure when or where, but lines are crossed- like, all of them: every single one he draws. And Yuma just tramples all over and past the things like they never existed, and like a shot to the head Shark thinks that, just maybe, for Yuma, they _didn't_. And _wow_, isn't that just a wonder?

He pushes back- shoves, really; tries to stop whatever is happening because he _doesn't need anyone._ But no matter what he does- ignores the bright teen, insults him, throws his claims of friendship back in his face like they don't matter (_Because they __**don't**_he tells himself); and every single time Yuma comes back, as bright and chirpy and _I'm never giving up on you, Shark! You're my friend and I don't give up on my friends. Ever._ And maybe he doesn't need anyone, but then again, Yuma isn't really _anyone_, is he?

He sort of regrets it, in those in-between times, when he's alone, by himself (because his minions? His followers? Those were the first to desert him after that first loss.) and even though he's used to (or _supposed _ to be used to- by this point) being alone, it's one of the few times he's _lonely_ and _When the hell did __**that**__ happen?_ which, like seemingly all answers to whatever questions he comes up with, is: _Yuma._

It's an echo in nearly every thought: _Yuma. Yuma. Yuma._ And he's certain it would drive him insane if he wasn't just as sure he was already going nuts over the annoyingly chipper, cutely ender- no. Just- _no._ But every time he pushes Yuma away, it hurts a little bit more, and he's gone from feeling relieved to just be _away_ from all that hyper energy to missing the warmth and joy that was simply Yuma. Somewhere in the middle he starts worrying that maybe _this time_, Yuma will give up on him, like everyone else has given up on him- which didn't matter because he hadn't needed _them_ anyway and- what the hell? When did he start _needing_ Yuma?

And thoughts of being free of actually needing someone else are what make him push Yuma away the next time, because Shark's never been so afraid of being afraid to lose someone. And this time he _tries_, he really, really _tries_ to get rid of Yuma, because of course it's better if he gets rid of Yuma than if Yuma gets rid of him, right? Of course. No doubt.

Except it doesn't work like that, and Yuma digs his feet in harder than ever and refuses to let him go, refuses to let him do something stupid that will more likely than not end up with him hurting himself (aside from the ridiculous pain in his chest from the impending loss of Yuma, that is) and really, dammit, since when did Yuma have so much control over him?! When Yuma does something utterly stupid himself, putting himself at risk for Shark, even if he might have to fight Shark again to do it, that part that's been scratching at him since the first rears its head because damned if Shark needed protected -by _Yuma_- from his own stupid decisions. He could protect himself -and Yuma, too, for that matter _Just watch me_- from his own stupid decisions _thank you very much_.

Even when it's finally over and they're left beneath the starry skies, exulted over their win, even after all his exposure to the light and ever-talking Yuma, he's still no better with words. So when Yuma, in his excitement, turns around and kisses him, then pulls back and blushes because _Wow, that was a stupid thing to do, huh? Wanna go on a date tomorrow?_ all Shark can do is stare for a little bit before he pulls the other back in and seals their lips again before deciding he's had entirely too much Yuma-Yuma-Yuma for the night and if he sticks around he's going to say something _way_ more embarrassing than _You excel at them_ and_ Yeah, whatever_ that he actually manages.

The whole thing is embarrassing and infuriating and annoying. And also warm, comforting, _happy_- like he hasn't been in; well, he can't remember, but it's certainly been a while. It's secret (because he still can't stand Yuma's friends and he doesn't need anyone- just, Yuma happens to not fall in that category, so he's naturally excluded), and sweet (Yuma dragging him to an amusement park, hand warm against his wrist; and yeah, that one time when Yuma brought him flowers like he was a girl, but he didn't care because -hey- neither of them knew what the hell they were really doing but it felt great and they were figuring it out together) and safe (because Yuma was a human yo-yo, and no matter how many times Shark pushed him away, he could always count on Yuma to come back to him; and no matter how many walls he put up, he could trust Yuma to smash through them all just to reach him).

And then it ends. Not because of Yuma, not because he suddenly stops coming back, but because Shark can't let him. And it _hurts_- nothing's ever really hurt worse than this; feeling his heart crack and saying poisoned words he doesn't mean like all their precious memories together mean nothing to him- _And don't call me that anymore, either; it's not my name_. If it were up to him, he'd choose Yuma, because who the hell else has seen the asshole Shark is and still chosen him time and time again? Exactly _no one_... except Yuma. Between Yuma and duty, Yuma would win everytime; no contest. But this isn't just him, because if it were just him- well, Yuma could just have him all. But there are others counting on him and he can't let them down, even if it tears him apart- which it does, and people kind-of care about that, but not enough to do anything really helpful.

It hurts more than he thought it would, which was saying something, because he hadn't expected anything less than agony once he'd given in to Yuma. But it at least it doesn't hurt _often_, really; just, you know, when he breathed, when the broken thing in his chest beat- but other than that he was totally fine. Because he didn't need anyone. But _dammit_ he needed Yuma...

He doesn't expect it- at _all_, which, really, what the hell had he even been thinking to let it take him by surprise? Because it was _Yuma_, and Yuma never gave up on _anyone_, and he damn sure wasn't going to give up on Shark _Or whatever you want to be called_ and he's not quite sure what delusions had occupied his mind with the belief that he would, because that _so _wasn't Yuma whatever-order-his-name-was-in-today Tsukumo, and Shark really should know that by now. With so much at stake- with _everything_ at stake, with Shark backed up against the wall and knowing that this is hopeless for one of them and so hopeless for both of them and no matter how this ends it won't end well.

But he'd forgotten for the- well, the exact number is rather embarrassing, but he really should _stop_ underestimating what Yuma can do, because the answer is fast becoming obvious: Any damn thing he sets his mind to. When it's over, settled -_at last_- he can barely believe it, can barely trust the ground below him and the sky over his head, because Yuma has once again done the absolute impossible and everything is going to be alright now. Really, it is.

Yuma seems older when he sits next to him on the ground, waiting for it to catch up to him, waiting for him to realize that _Yes, it's over, but not quite finished_ because he still has a few things to do and straighten out before they can go home. And that's a wonderful word in and of itself, though home isn't where Yuma thinks, it's wherever Yuma _is_. But Shark doesn't say that: isn't good enough with words for it.

So he deflects, asks Yuma why he still calls him Shark, because -hey- it's as good a question as any to distract from the real _You really will never give up on me, will you? _and _What the __**hell**__ where you thinking you idiot you could have got yourself killed don't ever do that again_ that want to jump from his still-acerbic-as-ever tongue.

The reply is sorta surprising -and at this point he just leans back and wonders if he'll ever figure out the mystery that is Tsukumo Yuma (or whichever)- and just completely and utterly Yuma with _You're still you, no matter what you look like or what you call yourself. Still Shark... Still __**mine **_and he's sorta completely speechless; which is fine, since he's not good with words anyway. Never has been, probably never will be.

But as he leans over and presses his lips against Yuma's, he knows he doesn't really have to be good with words; Yuma's good at translating Shark, and he understands all the words left unspoken.


End file.
